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I had it in my pocket.

Had held my hand in his some time "to feel its out-of-door cheer, vigor: it has the warmth, smell, of

W. awake and so I went immediately in for my talk. Had found at W.'

Traubel,If Walt Whitman is in a condition to receive a message, give him my love & heartiest thanks for

They have a way at Bolton of doing these things so well—paper—ink, even—that even my eye is cheated."

Give them all my love, too, and safety for the Colonel." W. asked me, "Who is in the next room?"

Spoke of this before he had answered my questions about his health.

"I am not well yet by any means, but then a man in my condition counts little things."

The worst of it is I am very unsteady on my feet and some day shall have a fall—trip."

Sent up by me to my father a picture of Dr. Bucke for him to see.

He had written on the back of it: "My friend Dr. R. M. Bucke came Oct: 15 '88".

W. listened to my detail of this with apparently intense interest.

I am very careless of my possessions.

The fact is the subject was so august to my mind that I never got courage or time to sit down to it.

Now about my obligation on November Boughs, I despair of doing what I wish to do.

I like once a year, when I can, to give my people a good thorough dose of some noble works.

On my way to Phila. Shall be able despite doubts to go to N.Y. tomorrow.

But that shows a misconception of my mission on this earth, which is not to be catspaw under whatever

issues of time, or to claim that which is not my own, or to play fool—as would be palpably the case

for me to print under my own name an article which any astute man would at once see was his by fingermarks

I had left on my first trip the old scrap-book containing Ingersoll's "Burns."

Said, "I took my medicine at 12, 3, 6, 9, 12.

And at my statement—"That is right, I am glad you said it that way," adding, "There are stories nowadays

I told him in my last letter that he would undoubtedly get a copy next week." "So he will!

W. added: "I sent away a number of the papers this evening—to Doctor, Kennedy, my sisters, brothers,

page is perfect—I cannot conceive anything finer—and the little notes (opening and closing) are (to my

Bucke.W. had pinned the original proof with his blue-pencilled corrections to my sheet.

I advised: Wait till we are sure: I will open the box and make my count in a day or two.

best friends—one who leans my way, who I in turn may lean upon."

My father has been making a large copy of the Gutekunst picture and W. said: "I shall probably stop in

And on my negative merrily exclaiming, "Nor have I bite!"

"I have had quite a curiosity," he said once more, "to fall on the track of my Brazilian poemetta—I looked

I spoke of its wonder and W. repeated my word—admitting it had "wonder: that first wonder—influence—which

"Enviged" me, he said smilingly, my prospective roamings this day.

"I am sorry for my imprisonment—but glad I have a good prison," etc., with a laugh.

then, "Walt, it's necessary for you to say that in so many words: you must say, I declare this to be my

last will and testament," and then with a very strong, clear voice he said, "I declare this to be my

He "at last understands better" my very "frequent association of" his own name "with Tolstoy's."

Yesterday was my birthday.

"I would as lief regret that I had not murdered my mother."

To-dayToday he turned up a Gardner letter which he brought to my notice before I left.

My dear Whitman,I received this morning from an old friend (Mr.

Very cordial and spoke of my birthday, this day. "Thirty-one!

I had a copy of The Standard in my pocket.

At this calling my attention to a copy of Poet Lore, "Do you see it?"

"My first impulse was, to have you read it, then pass it on to Dr.

One of my first questions is always that—not always spoken—not methodically thought, even—but in a way

My brother leaves me this afternoon—have just been having a fine game of backgammon with him—all well

have spent a horrible day—full of discomfort—sticky—sluggish—baddish more ways than I can tell: one of my

But say, I am here tonight, in my bed, cheerful if not comfortable, with hope up again, though with entire

recognition of the gravity of my condition."

Give him—give her—my love, sympathy. Poor woman, too—she particularly: my heart goes out to her."

Reminded me, "My copy of Poet-Lore came today. Shall I send it to Bucke?"

s on my way to the city. All well there. W. and Ed sleeping. Ed had not gone to bed till one.

On my entrance he had taken my hand, I resisting a little, and objecting: "It is cold: I have just come

"My personal cleanliness—the washedness—so bad has been my state, has for the present to be post-poned

W. held my hand a long time to-nighttonight as I said my "good-bye" and was about to start off.

I have such a good bed,—and my stove does very well—it is a little bit out of the way in location—My

I said then: "I have another of my contributors who has given me 80 dollars so far" &c.

I have been much criticised for my use of the term—'divine average.'"

What now can make me happy as in those days when I was content with my dinner-pail—the bread, pork, sip

I get my dinner about 4 or 5—and my appetite keeps up amazingly—I don't flunk one meal out of 20: I have

copy of the big Gutekunst portrait for Agnes, who means to have it reproduced large, in charcoal, by my

I never thought of Buck's $10 again till three or four days later, when I opened my long memorandum book

So I carried Buck's $10 in my memo book till Nov. 28, when your call came and, putting $5 more with it

can explain to Walt the whole thing, and relieve me from what seems a mean thing.I am not ashamed of my

I have done my duty and been liberal as I could possibly afford to be.

All-seeing I am as clear as crystal and am not worried even if I am annoyed and wish I had stated in my

"Walt, you don't seem often to mistake my step, even in the dark."

"No, I do not, but my senses seem to get duller." I took a chair and moved it up towards the bed.

This is my music day.

Told him of my postal from Yarros that the O'Connor piece would be published in the next number of Liberty

proved—North, South, East, West—all of them—the plain every-day men—I should still go a-begging for my

If he gives me an apple for my mother, a cake for my sister, or anything for myself, he will perhaps

My only feeling in the matter is one of intense curiosity.

Give my love to Horace and say to him that I will write him soon.

My trip is agreeing with me and I am as well and hearty as possible.Best love to youR. M.

It would only add to my cares.

any injustice—though Dave is quite in my hands now, if I choose to crush him.

I do not want anything my fault to interfere with your progress.

It never quite approves itself to my eyes but I yield.

"I shall like to have it right here where I can put my hands on it—and my eyes."

Then we need title pages for your set and Bucke's and my own, and contents for all.

yes, Redpath was always partial to me—even went out of his way to curl my hair.

But there are three or four of my very most intimate friends—those nearest, best understanding me—who

thoroughly realize that my disposition is to hear all—the worst word that is said—the ignorantest—whatever

I can never get them to print my pictures as I want them—with an inclination towards the top of the page—certainly

He said, "I want to read this from Holmes at my leisure."

To which, "Probably not"—with a laugh—"but Holmes has plenty to help him bring me down from my conceit

Should any chance lose me my memorandum book, and the books not numbered, the case would be hopeless.

Bucke by having to make time—by a trip, in fact, to my old home at West Hills.

At my reminder he gave me the "Good-Bye" for Morse and with it a "sculptor's profile" and a copy, unmounted

"He saw trouble ahead, or possible—my iron hand, my death—that he now sells without contract—don't know

I am finally determined to act upon your counsel (which is my own, too), to put 'A Backward Glance' at

And to set the book now into a shape in which, if my wishes are regarded, it will always remain—marked

, sealed, with my final word, hope."

Here is the letter:Farmington, Maine,Aug. 21, 1888.My dear Mr.

My own family is for calling me 'Walt'—all of my family. Dr.

"Don't that bear out my idea?"

I clapped my hands. He threw his arms out as if in acknowledgment of applause.

He laughed at my dig.

Fels, Jennie May, and my sister Agnes.

I went in first—he greeted me—then saw and recognized Aggie—said: "How are you, my dear?"

My friends the Staffords lived away from the town—had a farm.

and on my shaking my head: "Well—I have—particularly years ago—in younger years.

Kissed him goodby—he held my hand warmly—said "Goodnight boy—goodnight! We'll meet again!"

You may think these strong words & that I have an exaggerated estimate of my dear friend's abilities,

I confess it had quite slipped my mind. I must take it up.

"Here are the proofs—but, Horace, do not rely upon my readings.

In fact, all my experiences South—all my experiences in the hospitals, among the soldiers in the crowds

Then read.Montenotte, Cork,Sept. 3, 1872.My dear Mr.

My address is as before, 50, Wellington Road, Dublin.

He took my hand—pressed it fervently. "I am in luck. Are you?

I think I shall remodel my piece (that I sent Walsh of Lippincott's) and make it into a review of the

Kennett Square, Penna.Nov. 12, 1866.My dear Sir: I send to you by the same mail which takes this note

, a copy of my last poem The Picture of St.

The age is over-squeamish, and, for my part, I prefer the honest nude to the suggestive half-draped.

If I had stopped to dispute with my enemies, even to dally or luxuriate with my friends, the book would

Showed him my column in Conservator about Newman and O'Reilly.

Only yesterday, Doctor, my friend Sylvester Baxter, of the Boston Herald, was in here to know if I would

But, Horace, I am afraid my back is turned for good." Thursday, August 13, 1891

"I forgot all about his name," he exclaimed, "my usual habit—nowadays!"

In my old days I take on the usual privilege of years—to go slow, to be less vehement, to trust more

means democracy, says democracy—seems to take easy hold of what I hope is ever and ever the point of my

It is to be my treat.

Asked me if Castle was "any good" any more—and upon my negative, "Well I supposed not, as a singer—but

My brother thinks so much of Mr.

I suppose I might have been more suspicious but for my dislike for one of our liveliest American qualities—suspicion

For my own satisfaction I went deliberately through 'Leaves of Grass' several times, but no sign!

cuss did me lots of good: he left me temporarily in a quarrelsome mood: I hated the room here, and my

lame leg, and my dizzy head: I got hungry for the sun again, for the hills: and though Mary brought

me up a good supper she didn't bring the sort of food required to satisfy a fellow with my appetite.

But later, next day, yesterday, the tramp's gift got into my veins—it was a slow process, but got there

I put in my question again about economics.

"It's getting to be my steady diet," he said. Did not look well or feel well.

"My sluggish blood forces me to appeal to outside fires."

It is all out of my hands now, and I do hope everything will turn out well.

Did you ever read his Story of My Heart? ["No," said W.]

This has not been one of my best days, nor one of my worst, either.

Day by day, in these older years of my life, I see how lucky I was that I was myself thrown out early

I was in a sense a boy of the farm and the streets; it was my fate, my good fate.

Sometimes I do my duty: not always: not because I live by any special method. Duty, duty.

They talked about matter of fact things in a matter of fact way—about their aunts and uncles and my aunts

When I got up to leave and went across the room to W. he took and held my hand and said very seriously

I got my estimate on a thousand." W. then: "Well, I don't know but I'll have a thousand anyway."

My head is in a bad state tonight. I must not worry it with anything at all."

My only ambition has been to not contradict—break—in 'Good-Bye' any of the great foundation laid in the

has been in stress and strain for several days over the serious illness of Warren's grandfather, Captain

The worst thing lately has been the clutch of my old monster—the grip.

And it fatally—almost fatally—affects my hearing.

If I talk myself, or listen to others talk, a while, I seem to lose my hearing utterly."

McKay wondered if W. expected him to publish "Good-Bye My Fancy."

don't say my say for me in the most conclusive way.

I am doing my job in my way: it don't suit them: they growl, curse, ridicule: but what is left for Walt

I have loved you for years with my whole heart and soul.

And yet I am a writer and make a living by my pen.

I am proud of my feeling for you.

This always arouses my fears.

As I groped my way for a chair, after shaking hands with him, I asked how he had spent the day.

But he added, after Ed had gone out: "I feel much better now—have felt much better ever since I had my

is made too prominent—when it is indeed insisted upon—when it is too much poked in one's face—I turn my

Perhaps it would be as well to wait and what S. had to say, if anything, in response to my letter.

It is a very good picture—one of the best in its way—that is my verdict.

It is a long story of woe—a catalogue of impecuniosities—this record of my printed labor!"

I have spent a fearfully depressed day—one of my worst—everything heavy, uncertain, whirling.

But my idea is, that Shakespeare, Browning, unexpressibly grand as their work has been, are democrats

Bonsall may be mistaken—but my guess now would be that it's a good sample of the damned sneaking editorial

My dear sir,I fear that the Passage to India is a poem too long and too abstract for the hasty and the

My dear Whitman,The Voice of the Rain does not tempt me, and I return it herewith with thanks.Yours ever

My dear Sir:I greatly regret being unable to avail myself of the Poems November Boughs which you so kindly

"But give my love to all the ferry boys—to Ed Lindell, to Tommy—Tommy Logan—to Foxy, to Eugene Crosby

was not relieved, he said "I don't dare to say I am, for fear I may fall back again—get shame of all my

All the time during the rest of my stay he had the soap at his nose.

Again—inquiring what papers I had in my hand, he looked at Harper's Weekly and Young People—remarking

Though how a fellow can be a Leaves-of-Grass-man and fall into such a ditch defeats all my explanations

"I have thought, how much can be done with stained glass—how much has been done: have thought of my own

I want to come—it is part of my duty yet while living, if I can.

My hope has been diminishing little by little, but not yet to a total negative."

My impression of W's appearance at this date is a favorable one: though it is clear enough that his recent

Often he points me about the rooms: "Poor as these are, they are a comfort to me—my own—giving me freedom

My only uncompromising friend in the family is probably Watson—he swears to me—not everything in me,

When I was in Denver I spent my longest hours in contemplation of the mountain ranges."

I took off my hat to the compliment.